


Scenes from POSEIDON's Wrath

by SaltysScribbles



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Ah yes my Problem Child, I still love you though... sort of...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltysScribbles/pseuds/SaltysScribbles
Summary: Baby's First AU after a long hiatus from writing... I have mostly abandoned the idea as a complete fic. But I might write scenes from it as the mood strikes me!Most of these were also written for Horizontober 2020!
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

As it turns out, there are no lab notes in the facility to burn; the crates dotting the floor are filled with an odd inventory. The rubber duck doesn’t make any sense, and she has absolutely no inkling as to why a survival knife like the one she retrieves from under a stack of cloth tarps would be stored in a cryogenics lab.

But she isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth; there may not be lab notes, but there are flammable items, and soon she has a merry little blaze going in the center of the floor that her father might even have been proud of.

Problem one, warmth; solved. Problems two and three; hunger and thirst. Now that she’s warmed up and more awake, her stomach is clamoring to be filled, and her tongue feels dry and clumsy.

Picking up one of the tarps and winding it around her shoulders and head as a makeshift poncho, she peers back out the hatch into the pattering rain.

_A stream ought to fix both of those problems… if I can remember what Mom taught me about cleaning a fish, and if I can work out how to get one out of it._

It isn’t too hard to follow the sound of flowing water through the trees, and when she finally crosses paths with the stream, and kneels to drink, she can see the silvery flash of scales beneath the surface.

_Aha! Yeah, I can… try to work with this. I didn’t see any fishing tackle in those boxes. And I don’t think I’ll be any good at spear fishing. So… maybe I can use something to scoop it up? Maybe the tarp. It… could work._

It takes more tries than her stomach wants to endure. But finally, she manages to snatch up a trout in the tarp’s folds, and wrestle it up onto the bank. It takes far more effort than it ought to, and she’s soaked again by the time she finally gets them both out of the water.

But there’s Problem Three solved, and the means to solve Problem Two flopping around on the tarp, within her grasp.

Her patience lasts long enough to gut her catch, and to work out most of the bones. But the clawing emptiness of her stomach hits a fever pitch as she sets the knife against the scales, scraping a few of them away, and she comes to a halt, staring down at the exposed patch of pinkish flesh.

_Am I… hungry enough to eat this raw?_

The debate doesn’t last long. “…yeah,” she murmurs, to no one in particular, before sinking her teeth into it.

It’s exactly as disgusting as she expects it to be, and she has to fight back the urge to gag for a moment or two. But she’s hungry enough not to care. The entire raw, slimy, bescaled thing goes straight down her throat.

And it does get easier to deal with as she goes on.

It doesn’t take long to sate her hunger, for all of the insistence of her stomach, and she pulls a face, wiping scales from her mouth and scrubbing her hands clean on the grass.

_Well… Utah sashimi for breakfast, I guess. Let’s hope I’m not desperate enough to do that ever, ever again._


	2. Chapter 2

Aloy has seen plenty of Metal Devils… of FAS-BOR7 Horus units… on her journeys. She’s always found them unsettling, with their splay of spidery limbs and whiplike tentacles, and with the jagged architecture of their carapaces.

Now, watching the mechanical claws clutch at the edges of the wall, watching the massive body angle itself up and over the edge, the lights at the forefront of its chassis blinking as it continues its climb toward full power…

It’s an entirely different kind of terror, and she actually falls back a step, clutching her spear in a white-knuckled grip.

_If it really gets going, boots all the way up… it could start building new units._

_It could unleash a whole new Faro Plague._

The horror of that particular conclusion is lost on Talanah, but she understands well enough the danger posed by an active Horus, just by looking at it. Her fingers caress the string of her bow nervously, reflexively, as she turns a wide-eyed look toward her Thrush.

“How are we supposed to fight that?”

Aloy has no particular answer for that, shaking her head; they have to stop the machine. They _have_ to.

But how?

“I… I don’t know. I don’t think arrows will make much of a dent.”

At her throat, MINERVA chimes softly.

**_“CO-COLLEAGUE: ALOY.”_ **

Reaching under her scarf, Aloy fishes out the little amulet that houses MINERVA’s core. The surface pulses with silvery-white light as her machine-companion speaks.

**_“I belie-lieve that I can assis-sist in this endeavor. My pro-pro-programming fun-functionality may allow-low me to disrupt the ENEMY UNIT’s movements and wea-weaponry.”_ **

It takes a minute for the AI’s words to sink in, and she tightens her grip on the core, giving it a little shake.

“So you’re going to help us fight?”

The movement scrambles the subfunction’s stutter even more, but she pays it no mind.

**_“Affi-ffi-ffirdsghDSHGdmative. It is a formidable foe. But if the co-core can be exposed and destroy-royed…”_ **

Nodding slowly, Aloy finishes MINERVA’s thought.

“…we can stop it.”

The notion sends an electric charge of hope racing through her veins. With MINERVA working alongside them, they have a chance. More than that; they have a _plan_. She gives Talanah a challenging grin.

“What do you think? Ready to hunt?”

The Sunhawk’s answering smile is just as wicked, as she nocks an arrow.

“ _Born_ ready.”

MINERVA makes a wordless sound, something akin to a sword being drawn from its sheath.

The Horus is still coming, clawing its way across the open space toward them. But with her friends at her back, it almost seems a bit smaller, now. Less intimidating. She nods to each of them in turn.

“Let’s take it down.”

Redoubling her grip on her spear, taking a final, deep breath, and baring her teeth, Aloy charges forward, into the jaws of death.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s only a handful of people in the known universe for whom Nora Everett will drop everything she’s working on.

The incoming call that sends her Focus pulsing against her ear is, to her delight, from one of them.

Settling the heavy cables she’s been hauling across the lab against the floor, she reaches up to answer, beaming as the face of her friend pops into view.

“Elisabet, my dear! Are you finished cleaning up Faro’s mess over there? Ready for Canyonlands, yet?”

Elisabet gives her a rueful little smile, and internally, Nora sighs. She knows that smile; it’s the one that her friend is prone to giving when she has to delay or cancel plans.

“No. Still working. I just… had a professional question for you.”

When Nora inclines her head, gesturing for her to go on, she taps open her wrist-mounted holographic display, pulling up a few windows before forging on.

“I need a firm estimate; what’s the upper bound for how long a cryopreserved sample of biological material would last? Say… with you as the engineer?”

That gets Nora’s attention, and she raises an eyebrow.

 _With_ me _as the engineer? Is she looking to hire me for something? But what would Miriam need or want with cryogenics? All of their tech is built to function in outdoor conditions… hardly supercooled._

She holds up her free hand, fingers spaced a bit apart to indicate a small amount.

“Are we talking tissue samples, or…?”

Shaking her head, Elisabet holds her hands apart at about shoulder width.

“Seeds. Zygotes. With the intention of indefinite storage.”

It’s an odd question, to be sure; usually, those concerned with the preservation of such things have a set date at which they’re planning on planting the frozen material, whether it’s in the earth, or in an ectogenic chamber. And while long-term storage _is_ Nora’s particular specialty, she can’t imagine a reason for _Elisabet Sobeck_ of all people to take a professional interest in preservation of frozen embryos.

Nora rolls her eyes skyward, running through the mental calculations.

“Uhh… well, right now, upwards of a century, I think, with my best preventative measures in place. Maybe a hundred and thirty? But, hey, Lis, listen. I’ve got something exciting I wanted to show you. I made a breakthrough-”

Elisabet cuts her off, raising a hand and smiling apologetically as she taps the information into her wrist display.

“Sorry. No time right now. I, uhh…”

Pausing and squeezing her eyes shut, she rubs at the bridge of her nose, murmuring something barely audible about figuring out the right words.

She looks _exhausted_ , Nora realizes. Haggard.

_Just what is Faro trying to wring out of her up there?_

“Listen. Nora. Will you be available for a professional consultation in, say… three days or so? It’s important. Maybe the most important work we’ve ever done together.”

Nora’s brows draw together in concern, and she lets out a little hum.

“That’s… a little ominous. Is everything ok over there?”

With a grim smile, Elisabet shakes her head.

“No. I’ll tell you about it later. For now, I have to get back to work.”

Shouldering the spool of cable again, Nora makes an ambivalent “if you say so” noise, shrugging around her heavy rubber burden.

“OK. Just… don’t go killing yourself trying to fix one of Faro’s little slip-ups, all right? You don’t owe him anything.”

That _does_ coax a little chuckle out of her, though there’s something bitter in the twist of her mouth.

“I know. I’ll catch you later.”

Nora tries to go back to work, after she hangs up the call. She really does. But her mind keeps circling back to the exhausted look on her friend’s face. The grim tone in her voice.

Abandoning the effort, she takes a seat on the edge of the capsule, interlacing her fingers and letting out a long breath through pursed lips.

_I’ve known this woman since she was sixteen years old. And never once have I seen her this agitated. What’s got her so worked up?_

Whatever it is, it can’t be good. At all.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s one last thing that she needs, she feels, to do before striking out for Thebes and her mission. And it’s not easy, in any sense of the word.

The climb is bad enough; it’s more difficult than anything she’s attempted in years, especially after the injury to her shoulder at Red Rock, and by the end of the ascent, she’s feeling every bit of it, all over again.

But coming up the trail, into the shaft of sunlight spilling through the cracks in the mountain’s face, and finally laying eyes on the spot that’s been described to her…

 _That_ hurts far worse than her aching bones.

Elisabet has to steady herself at the cusp of the trail, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat and running through a few calming breathing exercises, before making her way, haltingly, to the edge of the makeshift cemetery, and kneeling in the dust at its edge, wrapping her arms in close to combat the chill. She manages a weak little smile after a moment or two of effort.

“Hey guys. It was about time I came for a visit.”

As final resting places go, she thinks, it isn’t too bad; the high altitude and temperature don’t allow for showy flowers, but there are a few hardy mountain plants living on the peaks, and the stubborn little things are clinging to the soil in and among the graves, planted there by careful hands. Each of the plots have been marked with a sort of headstone, formed from machine plates lashed together with cabling, and painted with an approximation of each of Project Zero Dawn’s subfunctions.

The POSEIDON marker has tipped partially over, and she reaches out to straighten it, brushing a layer of dust from its face.

“Nice of her to have given you a proper burial. All nine of you… it couldn’t have been easy. I’ll have to thank her on our behalf. When I finally get a chance to meet her, I mean.”

As thoughtful as the layout of the little graveyard is, it’s clear that no one has been here in some time; overgrowth has begun to creep in among the scree piled atop each plot, and the other markers have fared no better than Esteban’s, coated in a layer of grime cut through by trickles of water left by melting snow.

Without thinking too hard about it, she begins to pull the weeds as she speaks. To rub the headstones clean with the underside of her sleeve.

“It’s been a little bit of a shock since we last spoke. I… didn’t expect to make it all the way home, much less all the way into the thirty-first century. So much has changed, out there. I wish you could see it. There were a few hiccups, but things worked, for the most part. It’s… beautiful. Dangerous, yes, but beautiful. And full of people who are-”

The _unfairness_ of it all hits her again, and she pauses, a particularly stubborn weed clutched in her hand, to breathe around the rawness growing in her throat.

“-who are, umm…”

This time, though, there’s no working around it; the feeling grows, hollowing out the inside of her chest, and she presses her forehead to her fists, grimacing and curling around the pain.

 _Six billion people on the planet, and all but two of them dead. Maybe all but one. And one of them,_ me _. I really, really wish I could remember why._

She knows what any one of her colleagues would say to her, if they could. But here, and now, with their gravesites at her feet, it’s… hard to focus on that.

The stems tangled among her fingers snap and break as she clutches at them in her grief, and the sharp scent of greenery grounds her. At least, a little bit. Tugging the roots out and setting them aside, she wipes her eyes on the back of her glove before slowly resuming her task, losing herself in the mindless work.

For a while, once the tending is done, she sits in silence with them, listening to the wind whistle through the cracks in the sides of King’s Peak, and the groan and shift of the ruins.

Finally, though, the angle of the sun convinces her to stir herself and get moving, if she doesn’t want to make the descent in the dark. With a little sigh, she wipes her face one last time on the back of her clean sleeve (well… clean _er_ sleeve.)

“Anyway. I… I should get going. I’m about to go and do something that’ll probably get me killed. Again. But if I do survive this one, I’ll… try to come back, when I can.”

Rising to her feet and brushing the dust from her knees, she gives her team one last little smile.

“Take care, guys. Until next time.”


	5. Chapter 5

For as long as she can remember, Aloy has been full of questions about… well, just about everything. Thinking out loud has been a habit since her childhood, and she’s always had plenty of thoughts to articulate. Sometimes, too many.

She’s also used to having her queries shut down, or deflected. “ _This is not the time to ask questions, Aloy_ ,” or “ _You shouldn’t ask questions about that, Aloy, it’s forbidden_ ,” or “ _You don’t need to know that, Aloy_ ” are old familiar refrains.

They haven’t stopped her from expressing her thoughts, but she has gotten used to not having her questions answered.

So when she casually asks, “Do you ever wonder what it was like when it was just the machines, and GAIA? Before life got started again, I mean?” as they observe a herd of Lancehorns, wandering the hillside below the ridge they’ve made their camp on, she isn’t expecting an answer.

But Elisabet hums thoughtfully, drumming her fingertips against the side of her boot and leaning forward to study the blue lights of the machines as they bob through the brush below.

“Definitely not quiet. They vocalize a LOT. And there was still wind, and rain, and flowing water, even if there was nothing around to hear it. I wonder if there were more of them, back then? If production has scaled back as the process of restoration rolled along?”

She has to consider that for a moment, wrapping her head around the idea of even more of the terraformers than are already present in her life.

“It’s kind of hard to imagine more of them… there are lots of machines out there, now, as it is. But the whole world… you’re probably right. That _would_ take a lot of them.”

It occurs to her, only a moment later, that they do have an eyewitness among them. She cups her hands around the little node hanging from its cable around her neck.

“MINERVA? Do you remember what it was like?”

The silvery-white light spools out of the little device into the AI’s preferred avatar-shape; a helmet not unlike those worn by Carja soldiers, topped with a crest of stiff hair, instead of the spilling plume of red feathers.

“ ** _Negative. My memories of Project Zero Dawn are… focused on my directive alone. And they are GAIA’s memories. Not mine. I merely possess them, in addition to my own._** ”

Elisabet’s fingers start drumming against her knee again, in a gesture that Aloy has come to associate with interest and curiosity.

“Oh? That’s gotta be strange… what does that feel like?”

For a moment or two, the light swirls about silently, as MINERVA thinks about it.

“ ** _It is… hard to explain. I believe it is… perhaps, most akin to the human phenomenon of ‘dreaming?’ Events that are not yours, and do not seem real, and yet… are remembered with perfect clarity._** ”

“ ** _They are not like my current memories_** ,” she concludes.

The three of them fall into comfortable silence for a while, watching the herd move about up and down the slope, calling out to each other and digging at the earth with their spiraling horns.

When the next logical link in the chain pops into Aloy’s head, she lets it pop out of her mouth, as well.

“You know, we’ll have the answer, someday. When we get finished with rebuilding GAIA? I bet she’ll be happy to tell us about it.”

Elisabet brightens visibly at the mention of GAIA’s resurrection, beaming at her.

“You’re right. Just another reason to step on it.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase, and Aloy frowns.

“'Step on it?’ What’s that mean?”

And from there, the cycle of questions and answers continues until the fire dies to embers, and neither can keep their eyes open.


	6. Chapter 6

Much as she doesn’t like relying on others, Aloy does have to admit that it’s nice to let someone else handle the bandages, for once.

Even if they _are_ a little bulky, and it’s taken her three times to get the wrap right.

Elisabet finishes tying off the knot on the outside edge of her shoulder.

“How’s that? Too tight?”

She flexes the shoulder carefully, experimentally, before shaking her head.

“No. It feels fine. Thanks.”

The bandages are almost too thick to feel the fingertips that linger on the outside of her arm. Almost; when she reaches toward them, her hand brushes against them as they pull away.

Twisting around toward Elisabet, who’s now very pointedly collecting and stowing their medical supplies, she puts on a mollifying look, raising a brow.

“Really. It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

Something about the look that flashes across her face suggests that she’s not happy to hear that. Or imagine it.

But she schools her expression carefully into a rueful smile before she looks up.

“I know. This is your specialty. Worrying about it is mine.”

Aloy understands. She thinks. Maybe. There’s a desolation in her predecessor’s eyes that’s all too familiar.

She reaches out with an equally-bandaged hand, palm up, inviting.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”

Without hesitation, the scientist’s fingers interlace with hers.

“I know.”

MINERVA gives them a moment of silence longer before she buzzes softly, the node containing her core lighting up with her signature silvery-white glow.

“ ** _I do not wish to interrupt. But we have new data to compile and discuss. Shall we engage Local Sharing?_** ”

Elisabet seems almost reluctant to let go. But she reaches for her Focus, finally, with a little nod.

“Sure. Ready whenever you are.”

Privately, through the speaker in her Focus, MINERVA thrums, “ ** _I am in agreement with FRIEND: ELISABET. I am… frequently worried… about the number of unnecessary risks in your normal operating schedule._** ”

“Of _course_ you are,” Aloy grumbles, tapping open her Connections panel and selecting both of the available options.

But she can’t keep the smile off her face.


	7. Chapter 7

“The situation is… complicated. It’s… well. I do have a message that covers it,” says Sylens, “intended for you in a _way_. Recovered from a terminal at the ELEUTHIA-9 Cradle Facility.”

She raises a hand to her Focus, calling up the greenish hemisphere of her UI.

“Show me. Here, turn on your interface, and I’ll…“

It’s not hard to find and send a connection request; there’s only one other Focus available in the immediate vicinity, after all. The hemisphere surrounding her vanishes, momentarily, and then reappears, twice as large and encompassing both of them. The intermeshed lines glow in her own preferred green, and the default blue that he seems to favor.

Judging by the look of surprise on Sylens’ face, it’s the first time he’s experienced Local Sharing. She can’t help but smile at the reaction.

"You didn’t know they could do this, did you?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sylens lets out a soft little snort.

“How many other Focus users have you met?”

She has to concede that point, shrugging and making a noncommittal little noise as she reaches out to call up her Files pane.

“Right. Well. Local Sharing mode can create an integrated user space, where files can be viewed directly between two users. You can just… umm…”

Briefly, she thumbs through her Photos folder, before finding an inoffensive image of herself in PhD regalia, diploma in hand, and flicking it out into the space between them.

“…toss files out like this.”

The hologram pops into view, grinning and tucking the folder under its arm. “ _Well, that was an experience_ ,” it says, “ _let’s **not** do it again._”

“ _Hear, hear!_ ” crows Nora’s voice from somewhere off-image.

Sylens studies the scene for a moment, nodding and tapping a knuckle thoughtfully against his chin.

“I see. Like this, then…”

His hands move over the panels of his own, unseen user interface, and after a brief search period, he swipes a file into the shared space.

A second Elisabet steps forward to join the first.

“ _Who says I’m like other Nora?_ ” she asks.

It’s _uncanny_ , and the hairs on the back of the flesh-and-blood Elisabet’s neck stand on end. The face beneath the tam and the one framed by a fiery, braided mane are the same, and their voices are alike in pitch and timbre. But the rest of the second image belongs entirely to the New World, clad in hides and furs and armored in machine-metal plates. A longbow rests across her shoulders, decked with feathers, beads, and strips of cloth. 

And her _eyes_ … there’s something lively and curious about them that draws Elisabet’s attention, and holds it there.

She circles it, studying it from every angle, before finally coming to a stop in front of the pair of holograms, giving Sylens a dumbfounded look.

“How did you _do_ this?”

Reaching for another file, he pauses, hand hovering in the empty air over it for a moment or two, before he tosses it into the space between them.

“It’s not what _I_ did. You might want to take a seat, Dr. Sobeck. This may be… somewhat distressing.”

It’s the understatement of a thousand years.


	8. Chapter 8

She feels the first of her ancient enemies shudder back to life, and it pierces straight into the core of her being, dragging her out of the low-power doze she’s been maintaining, huddled down among the wreckage that serves as her nest.

_No!_

The wrongness of it crawls in her, tangling itself in and among the directives, the bits and pieces that she’d torn away during her frantic flight from her birthplace. This is something that she’s meant to stop. To disallow.

It’s the entire reason for which she exists.

Stretching herself out from her sanctuary, she begins her search. It doesn’t take her long to find her scuttling foe. And it doesn’t take her long to dispatch it, either, striking out with a silvery spear of data, and returning it to its slumber. 

That should be the end of it; the errant foe, dispatched. The watcher, free to return to her well-earned rest.

Except… it’s not.

Again and again, the scuttling foe rises, drawing her attention from her nest halfway across the continent, and again and again, she strikes them down.

It’s an odd way to go about things. When last she’d fought with the enemy, the rules of engagement had been different; they’d been a great, blanketing wave, swelling upward and outward with the need to conquer, and she and her general had borne them all down into the depths, fighting together as one.

This is more like a trickle. One enemy, two, perhaps three, crawling from the deep place to which they’d all been banished. It’s an entirely new strategy, and one she doesn’t understand at all…

…until their new commander seeks her out; one of the others, with whom she’d awoken. Red and seething, and full of the same sense of purpose as she is.

Purpose that puts them at odds with each other. They don’t bother to commune. The challenge is clear, the rules of engagement set from the moment their scans detect each other, and red and silvery-white crash together in a snarled knot without so much as a stand-and-deliver.

MINERVA is a good soldier; she can hold her own in a battle of codes. Her entire purpose is to infiltrate and quash. To spin queries and probes that check defenses, find chinks in armor, and slip through to hollow out her foes from the inside out.

But HADES is built to destroy, and destroy he does, rending at her inelegantly with lines of malicious code, with viruses that gnaw into her, tearing away pieces, faster than she can gouge holes into his own intellect.

Bit by bit, she’s aware, she’s losing. And it hurts. But tenacity is built into her core just as strongly as her purpose is, and she launches her assault anew, refusing to back down. On and on she struggles, until finally, something inside of her, something vital, _snaps_ , and instinctively, as warning messages clutter her awareness, she knows that if she keeps fighting now, keeps pushing… she’ll be utterly destroyed.

Releasing her grasp on the other AI, she retreats, fleeing along old network lines barely maintained by rickety satellites, through stretches of fiber optic cable, racing away from the conflict until she dives back into the den in which her journey began.

Here, finally coming to rest, she licks her wounds, quivering in pain. Cataloguing. Growing wiser.

Her directive still pulses at her core; destroy the enemy. Keep them buried. Keep them dead.

But how can she do that when her maddened colleague continues to spit and seethe at the edge of her awareness, a clear warning that, if she engages with him again, she’ll be destroyed? She’s helpless to watch as her ancient foes emerge from their graves, eager to resume their ancient battle. One that, without the help of her general, MINERVA cannot win. They are bound to rise up again, that surging wave. To crush and devour, and burn and destroy in a way that makes every bit of her ache with failure and thwarted purpose.

And then… they don’t. Something stops them. Some _one_.

MINERVA observes this from afar. Observes _her_. And, curled in her nest, aching and beaten, she begins to formulate a new battle plan.


	9. Chapter 9

The first time that ALLY: ALOY brings up the subject of friendship, MINERVA doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“CYAN and Ourea were friends,” she says, as she picks her way up the slope, pausing to tuck a rock with an interesting pattern of stripes into one of her pouches, “And I think Elisabet and GAIA were, too. Do you think we could be friends, eventually, MINERVA?”

The AI searches her database momentarily. No, she doesn’t have a definition for that word… it must not be a concept important to her function.

“ _ **De-de-define… ‘Friends,’ please,**_ ” she asks, and ALLY: ALOY hums thoughtfully at that, furrowing her brows.

“Friends are… uhmmm… people who enjoy spending time together, I guess. Who care about each other. Try to help each other out, when they can.”

It really doesn’t seem like something important to MINERVA’s function, when it’s put that way; why enjoy the company of others, when she was created with a job to do, and she has to do it?

“ _ **It is not essential to my fun-function,**_ ” she replies, finally; it’s always best to be completely honest. Even if that answer does make ALLY: ALOY’s shoulders slump a little, into a posture that’s not ideal for their clamber up the scree.

“Right,” she says, and there’s a disappointment in her voice that MINERVA can’t help but note. It sits with her like the stone tucked away in ALLY: ALOY’s pouch as they continue to climb; hidden, and out of sight.

But the weight is there.

-  
They’re fleeing an engagement with the enemy through the low foothills of the mountains when ALLY: ALOY’s knees buckle, and she slumps into the grass on her side. Her heart rate has leaped into the upper echelons of what MINERVA has logged as “Safe,” and her respiration is irregular, and far too rapid.

“ ** _This cou-course of action is unwi-wi-wise_** ,” MINERVA buzzes, anxiously; pursuit will certainly be forthcoming, and the hilltop is exposed, open to the elements, “ _ **we mu-must conti-ti-tinue.**_ ”

“Sorry…” ALLY: ALOY gasps around attempts to bring her respiratory rate back into acceptable bounds, “I-I just… n-need to… rest… f-f-for a minute… I’ll… I’ll get up… in just…”

She trails off, and a few moments later, MINERVA picks up the change in pulse, respiration, and brainwave activity that indicate the beginning stages of sleep.

The AI is just starting to consider whether she should interrupt the pattern, when the tread of mechanical feet scatters her thoughts. She stretches her awareness out toward the noise, picking up the signature of a Watcher, wary, its optic sensor an amber color as it paces up the hill toward their position. It crests the rise, head swinging back and forth, warbling quietly to itself.

In just a moment, its gaze will fall straight across ALLY: ALOY’s position.

Without thinking, MINERVA gathers herself up and lashes out at it, finding the hard drive at the terraformer’s core, and stabbing at it with thin blades of data, obliterating old routines and loyalties, and inserting her own user code into the command bracket.

_You will not come any closer!_

Shuddering as silvery-white toned tendrils of nanotech burst from the area around the base of its head, streaming out behind it like a mane, the Watcher comes to an abrupt halt, and MINERVA feels some of the anxiety ebb.

Beyond just the tactical misfortune of losing an ally, the idea of the machine causing further damage to ALLY: ALOY distresses her in a way that she can’t quite define.

The machine is standing at attention, watching her, and she commands it to _keep watch_ , setting it prowling in a broad ring around their patch of grass, and through the rocks beyond.

“Did you do this?” asks COLLEAGUE: ALOY when the sun has risen and her sleep cycle has come to a close. Her pulse and respiration are, MINERVA notes with a measure of what seems to be relief, back within a normal range. The Watcher is still on patrol, looping back around the area and pausing to take special note of a particularly suspicious rock formation.

“ ** _Affi-fi-firmative,_** ” MINERVA replies, and to her surprise, she finds that she feels satisfaction over the little laugh that the human lets out. She files the “Thanks” that follows away safely in her database, and, over the course of the day’s walk, returns to it several times.

_Thanks._

Is there a proper response to that? She’ll have to find one. She likes the idea of seeing COLLEAGUE: ALOY’s reaction to the correct reply very much.

-  
“ ** _Your la-last-logged sleep cycle was… TWENTY-SIX HOURS, TEN MINUTES, and SIXTEEN SECONDS ago, COLLEAGUE: ALOY,_** ” MINERVA informs her as the Strider carries them along the spine of the mountain ridge, “ ** _I re-re-recommend that you log ano-nother._** ”

“I’m fine, MINERVA,” is the reply, as usual, “I’m not tired. Not tired enough to sleep, yet, anyway.”

There’s a new emotion in her human partner’s voice that MINERVA can’t quite place, and she runs through the breadth of her collected data before she finds an example that matches up with the tone.

“ _ **You are amu-mused.**_ ”

Now, she can see the flash of exposed teeth in the moonlight as COLLEAGUE: ALOY bares them in one of the human “smiles” that indicate pleasure.

“You’re trying to take care of me. Friends do that.”

It’s a surprising answer. MINERVA has fallen into the habit of logging sleep cycles, consumption of organic material for fuel, of bad moods and injuries and all of the other things that might slow her colleague down, or cause her to experience the distressing emotions that make her heart rate spike, and her respiratory rate jump up and down like a bouncing spring.

She has determined that she _dislikes_ those moments. That COLLEAGUE: ALOY should experience as few of them as possible, and that MINERVA herself should contribute all of the expertise she possesses to helping her avoid them. But she hasn’t considered that, perhaps, it’s the beginning of something new.

And… it stirs something in her, as well. Something that, she finds, she likes the idea of, very much.

“ ** _Perha-haps… my programming will allow…?_** ”

“I hope so,” says COLLEAGUE: ALOY with another one of her human smiles, “I really do.”  
-  
She dials herself down as small as she can go as rough hands drag them along through the ruin, up crumbling stairways, through bunker doors rusted with age, and into a room occupied by a large table. The human behind it stands, speaking words in a menacing tone, pacing around them in a predatory circle.

MINERVA pays them no mind; she’s far too busy keeping herself hidden within the little amulet that houses her core, tucked in among wooden beads and blue fabric and safely hidden from the aggressors’ view.

_Be still. Be small. Be quiet. Do not let them find you. Do not give away your advantage._

It seems to work, because eventually, the other human voices fade away, and she’s left alone with her partner in the cold quiet of their cell. From the rigid way COLLEAGUE: ALOY’s hands are gripping the amulet, she must be quite nervous.

 ** _“It is sa-safe to converse now, I bel-ie-ieve,_** ” she ventures, expanding herself by the slightest of fractions and doing her best to keep her voice low and soothing.

There’s no response.

“ ** _We can conve-verse now, if you wi-wish,_** ” she tries again, wondering if, perhaps, she wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the persistent hum in the room.

Again, no response. The grip on her core doesn’t change, even by the slightest of fractions, at the sound of her voice.

Alarmed, now, MINERVA begins to scan for vitals, and at first, she feels a stab of panic when a pulse isn’t readily apparent. But it’s there, when she searches again, more carefully, as is a respiration rate. Both are slow, far too slow for normal activity, or even for sleep, and she can detect nothing but the deepest of delta wave patterns when she adds brain activity to her diagnostic scans. Signs of life… but… signs that don’t extend outward, past the AI’s sensors.

Focusing in on the data points that indicate _alive!_ and not to the ones that scream _strange!_ , she considers the situation carefully as she ends the scan and files the readings she’s taken away, almost automatically.

This is a _problem_. A problem that it’s now up to MINERVA to solve. And she doesn’t have the necessary knowledge to do that.

Which means… it’s time to call for help. To find someone who does.

“ ** _Please do no-not be distressed, FRIE-FRIEND: ALOY,_** ” she murmurs, reaching into her archives for one of her oldest memories, and opening the transmitter functionality at the core of her being, **_“I will sta-stay with you. And I will fi-fi-find help. I will fi-fix this._** ”

That is, after all, she thinks, what a friend should do.


	10. Chapter 10

She comes across her first opportunity to test the device soon enough; a lone, birdlike machine, which the Focus identifies as a “Longleg,” paces in little rings along the road up ahead, pausing every now and then to scan the path to its rear, as though waiting for something to appear with blasts of air from what appears to be a sonar-like device attached to the chassis at the base of its neck.

It’s a simple enough matter to creep closer, concealed by the long grass, draw it to her hiding spot with a tossed rock, and to set the device against its chassis when it bends to scan the stone. Several of the white armor plates pop off as ropy strands of nanotech sprout from the shoulders of the machine, crawling up its neck and lacing in among the plates covering its head.

The Longleg warbles as the process completes, shuddering and peering at her carefully for a moment, before turning back to its task of surveying the surrounding area.

“All right. That’s simple enough. But how does it work?”

As the birdlike machine wanders off, winding up its sonic device for another blast at a “suspicious” shrub, she opens the Chariot device’s source code, fingers drumming lightly against her thigh as she reads through it, getting a sense for the underlying processes driving the change in the terraformer’s behavior.

“Oh, I see,” she murmurs, scrolling down through the lines of code, “It’s just a trick; changes the user’s designation to ‘friendly’ and then takes advantage of the Focus’s brainwave analysis to designate other targets based on the hacker’s perception of them. Clever! But not that clever. Very Ted. The ultimate source of instruction is still set to GAIA, isn’t it? The standard programmed routines? If we just… add in an if-then loop here, specifying that, with a Focus input, and without the presence of a governing AI, it should default to…”

Murmuring her thoughts aloud to herself, she pulls up the keyboard, taking a seat in the grass and beginning to reformat the script. It takes half an hour, during which her overriden partner treads a wide circle around her, examining every blade of grass and pebble for danger, but finally, she’s satisfied. Saving the changes and closing the window, she reboots both Focus and override device, waiting until everything has come back on line before reaching out a hand toward the machine and beckoning it with a little wave.

“There we go. Now. Come!”

The Longleg’s head shoots up, and it lets out a mechanical screel as it trots across the grassy area to stand in front of her. For good measure, its head dips to hover in front of her, one bank of optics scanning her up and down.

She has to resist the urge to reach out and stroke the sleek plates of its armored head.

_So far so good…_

“All right. How about… down?”

Folding its legs beneath it, the machine settles down in the grass beside her, turning its head to scan the area again, ever-watchful.

This time, she focuses her thoughts on the command, rather than verbalizing it.

_Up!_

The Longleg rises to its feet again, shaking out the antennae of its crest and making a clicking, warbling sound deep within its chassis.

 _Now there’s a trick for you, Ted,_ she thinks, rising to stand beside the birdlike machine, and finally giving in to the urge to run a hand over the plates covering its “wing.”

_I wonder if it’ll work on more than one at a time?_


	11. Chapter 11

Propped on the crate nearest the door are several rebreathers, with attached oxygen cannisters. Drumming her fingers on the manual release wheel, Elisabet considers them, 

_Almost a thousand years… there should be breathable atmosphere out there. If everything worked the way it should, that is._

Just in case, though, she picks one up, fitting it over nose (carefully, ow, ow, ow,) and mouth and dialing open the air bottle.

It takes more strength to crank the wheel open than she expects. But she manages, after several tries, to break the seal. Air rushes in with a little _tsss_ , and with the pressure on each side equalizing, it gets easier and easier to dial the triangular sections of the door back, opening the way. Beyond the hatch, the sky is thick with soft gray clouds. Rain patters through the needles of a forest of tall pines, standing sentinel in a ring around a small clearing.

_Trees! Leaves!_

She practically tears off the rebreather without a care for her aching nose, dropping it just inside the door and taking in a deep lungful. It’s green and fresh and _alive_ in a way that she hasn’t experienced in years. 

When she cautiously pokes a hand out into the downpour, all that splatters against her hand is water; it doesn’t burn, or stain her skin with ash. It’s just… wet. A little chilly.

Without further hesitation, she shoulders her way out through the hatch. The rain soaks her to the bone in minutes, but she can’t bring herself to care. In fact, she turns her face up into it, curling bare toes into the grass of the clearing, grinning widely enough to make her cheeks ache.

_Life!!!_

It’s more than just a hypothetical; it’s here, surrounding her. She can hear insect song over the falling rain, and the indignant shrill of a bird, protesting the weather.

She wants to stay out longer; to find puddles to splash in like a child. To seek out the ruffled bird, and the musical insects. To wander under the boughs, and poke through the undergrowth, cataloguing the plants.

But the rain isn’t helping with the post-cryo chill; she’s beginning to shiver violently, now, and the storm doesn’t look like it’s going to let up any time soon.

It’s time to find a way to warm up.

With one last, reluctant look over her shoulder, she turns, wrapping her arms around herself to rub life back into numb flesh, and pads back inside.

Hopefully, whoever owns the facility won’t be upset if she lights a few of their lab notes on fire.


	12. Chapter 12

Elisabet can readily, if asked, list the most terrible moments of her life without hesitation; the second set of calculations confirming her assessment of the Faro Plague. The last few days of her mother’s life. The fall at Red Rock (although she can’t really remember that one, so maybe it doesn’t count.) Two letters from her father, thirty-two years apart. A press conference that hit her like a punch in the gut.

And now, watching huntress and machine teeter on the edge of the cliff, and then topple over the brink into the canyon below.

She’s paralyzed for a long moment, rooted to the spot by the horror of what she’s just witnessed, blood roaring through her ears.

_No… no, no, this…_

It’s only the sound of the Sawtooth’s body impacting the rocks at the base of the cliff that breaks the spell, and she’s able to stumble to the edge on legs that feel like they’re suddenly made of water, shouting Aloy’s name over and over again, with increasing franticness.

Peering over the edge, she can just see the battered body of the machine, sprawled across the rocks below. The lights in its optics have gone out, and pieces of its white armor are scattered out across the canyon floor where the impact has shattered the plating.

There’s no flash of red hair among the wreckage. No spreading stain of blood…

But would it even be visible from this height?

 _Get down there! Go! Now! Find a path!_ shrieks the emotional part of her brain.

 _There’s no way she could have survived a fall from this height,_ the logical observes.

Both sides are equally miserable with the conclusion they draw.

_There’s nothing I can do. I…_

_Did we really go through all of_ that _just for me to lose her here?_

There’s a loud _skrrrrrrkt_ of metal scraping against stone, and she whirls on her heel, heart pounding in her throat. For a moment, there’s silence, and she wonders if she imagined it.

But no; there’s another _skrrrrrkt, krrkt_ , and then a fur-and-metal clad hand slaps over the lip of rock, patting around for purchase. The fingertips are fitted in among wickedly sharp machine-white spikes, which seem to have folded up and out of the gauntlet on some sort of makeshift hinge.

 _Climbing claws_ , she realizes, as the tips of the metal contraptions dig into the rock and stick, creating a firm handhold, _like the ones on a Wallrunner. She’s repurposed them!_

If Elisabet had time for pride, she might have stopped to savor it. _Brilliant! Clever girl!_

But she doesn’t right now; she’s already on her way to the spot, already seizing Aloy’s sleeve and collar and tugging at them, doing whatever she can to lend her strength to the climb. (She doesn’t know how much she’s really helping, but if she doesn’t do _something_ , she’s absolutely going to _vibrate out of her own skin._ )

Once she’s certain that all of Aloy is back on solid ground, she sweeps her arms around her, pulling her into a fierce hug and burying her face in the huntress’s shoulder.

“Do that to me again,” she murmurs into the fur collar, “and I’ll throw you over the edge myself next time.”

She feels, rather than hears the girl’s chuckle, and the points of the claws rest lightly against the back of her tunic as the embrace is returned.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re all right, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Umm… I think you’ve got my boots, there.”

Looking up from her task abruptly, the blonde woman blinks, laces still in her hands. It takes her a moment or two to realize exactly what it is that Elisabet’s talking about.

Once it dawns on her, though, she has the grace to look sheepish, pulling her foot out of the boot and setting it to the side quickly, beside its mate.

“Oh! Oh, sorry, I wasn’t even looking, I just kind of…”

With a helpless little shrug, she laughs, though there’s more please-don’t-be-upset in it than humor.

“They fit perfectly, and my brain was off in the clouds, so I just kind of assumed.”

Raising a hand to wave it off, perhaps a little too quickly, Elisabet lets out an equally humorless, please-don’t-get-mad-either laugh.

“No harm done. I just kind of left them in here with my bags while I went to do check-in stuff. I… ummm… should have put them away, probably.”

There’s an awkward moment of quiet between them before the woman indicates a second pair of hiking boots, similarly scuffed and battered, and like enough in color to make the mistake understandable at first blush. Her laces, however, are a bright green in contrast with the more subdued colors of Elisabet’s, and strung with little charms and wooden beads.

“Why don’t you try mine? See if it goes both ways. Science! You know?”

Obligingly, Elisabet flops down into the chair at the empty desk, kicking off one of her slip-ons and pulling the proffered boot on in its place.

It slips onto her foot like a glove, and she stares, wiggling her toes, reaching out to pinch at the tip and check their positioning against the edge of the shoe.

Perfect.

She glances up at the blonde with an exaggerated expression of shock on her face.

“Wow. What the hell.”

The woman lets out a crow of laughter, reaching out to accept the boot as it’s handed back to her.

“I know! Freaky. Especially since you’re so young, and you’re like… half a head shorter. You’ve gotta be Sobeck, then, right?”

She finally manages a little smile as she retrieves her shoe, slipping it back on. Their boots are side-by-side, now, she notices, lined up on the little mat set at the front of the room, between their respective desks.

“Yeah. Elisabet. You’re my office-mate? Uhhhm… Everett, right?”

Flashing her a broad, toothy grin, the woman extends her hand.

“Yep, that’s me. Nora. I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”


	14. Chapter 14

The Tallneck is a _marvel_ ; there’s no other way to describe it. The spread of each mechanical foot as it hits the earth, dispersing the weight of the impact and reducing the shock on each massive leg. The synthetic musculature and its giraffid arrangement, keeping the head and neck relatively steady while the body moves beneath it. The _elegance_ of it all, packaged together in a form that looks almost like it’s _breathing_ , in true GAIA fashion.

It’s a _marvel_ … and the sight of it makes her feel vaguely ill.

Pressing her knuckles firmly against her mouth and running through her tenth breathing exercise of the morning, Elisabet watches the Tallneck make another loop from her perch atop the promontory.

“I have to climb that. While it’s moving.”

The Focus hums lightly as Sylens speaks.

“Yes, that’s the idea. Once you reach the communications node at the top, you should be able to connect to it with your Focus, and boost the range of your transmission. Aloy overrode this one before her disappearance. It should be simple.”

With a terse sigh, she reaches behind the kerchief to run a hand through her hair.

“Simple. Right. Provided I don’t fall to my death, first.”

“That would be a problem, yes.”

As the machine rounds the bend, beginning another loop back toward her position, she steels herself, pressing her lips together and scrambling to her feet.

“Well… I guess I’m not getting any younger. Here we go, then-“

Backing up as the Tallneck approaches, she cranes her neck, judges the distance, then breaks into a sprint and _leaps_ for the fin protruding from the side of its chassis.

Her assessment is… _mostly_ good; she manages to get her arms over the top of it, but only just. The other edge collides with her solar plexus, the impact driving most of the air from her lungs.

Through the roaring of blood in her ears, she can barely hear Sylens’ sardonic question.

“Still alive, Dr. Sobeck?”

When she lets out a breathless _huerrrrgh_ sound, he replies with a curt, “Good.”

Scrabbling up over the edge of the fin and crouching, taking a moment to regain her breath, she studies the rest of the way up; a few yellow bars, bolted across strands of cable. Several more fins like the one she’s perched on stick out further up the length, interspersed with the quick-fix cable ties, on both sides of the neck.

_OK, Lis. It’s like a ladder. A very awkwardly spaced ladder. Just… don’t think about the lack of safety equipment. Think about up. Up is what you need, here._

Using the back-and-forth sway of the Tallneck’s walk to give her leap momentum, she crosses to the other fin. Hauls herself up to the cable tie. Uses the wiring of the machine’s neck to scramble up and rest her feet on it, and then propel herself up to the next one.

Bit by bit, step by excruciating step, she claws her way up to the bar hanging from the back of the disc-shaped head, and then over the top. As she takes a moment to catch her breath, hands on her knees, swaying a bit to correct for the bobbing of the Tallneck’s head, she glances up, out…

…and is immediately transfixed by the sight. Rolling dunes and jutting rock formations stretch out as far as the eye can see, and the glint of sunlight on water reveals Lake Powell, to the south. The Colorado River winds across the landscape in a glittering ribbon. To the west, she can barely make out Eagle Canyon, and the citadel, carved into the face of the stone walls. And beyond that, a few of the wind-carved spires of Bryce Canyon, piercing the horizon like spearpoints.

Shading her eyes, she lets out a shaky sigh of wonder and relief.

“Wow. The view from up here is…”

Sylens interrupts her search for an adjective with a little burst of static.

“You had a radio signal to pick up on, I believe?”

He’s doing his best to sound patient. Or… he’s trying, anyway. Or affecting an air of trying. But it’s enough to return her focus to the task at hand.

“Right! Right, yes. Thank you.”

Crouching beside the node at the top of the machine’s head, she brings up the Focus’s interface, and sets her override device against the smooth metal. The vinelike growths of the last override are still in place, but they pulse with sky-blue light as they make the connection with her Focus.

When she pulls up the radio frequency (still playing the lament,) the “Return Transmission” icon has turned green.

_Yes! That’s done it. We’ve got the range we need, now. Time to see who our mystery diva is… though, I think I have a pretty good idea, really._

Selecting the icon, she opens the channel, clearing her throat and raising her voice over the thump of the Tallneck’s strides.

“Hello? Do you read me?”

There’s a moment of silence from the other end of the connection. A buzz of static, or perhaps a mechanical thrum. And then…

“ ** _I re-re-read you. Please iden-den-tify yourself?_** ”

The voice gives a feminine impression, soprano and giving off a sense of smallness. It skips and breaks in places, stuttering and stumbling over words in little bursts of static. And the _accent_ …

It’s dead on for Captain Okilo, even if the pitch and tone aren’t. She’s guessed correctly.

“This is Elisabet Sobeck, Alpha Prime clearance. And… you’re MINERVA, aren’t you?”

There’s a faint chiming from the other end of the line.

“ ** _Afi-firmative._** **_I have confi-firmed voiceprint._** **_Greetings, DESIGNATION- AL-ALPHA PRIME: DR. SOBECK. It is… a plea-pleasure to establish contac-act.”_**

The pleasantry is enough to ease her nerves a bit, and she feels some of the knots in her shoulders loosen; at the very least, MINERVA has good manners.

“Nice to meet you, too. I got your message. Your broadcast, I mean. The lament. You’re calling for help, aren’t you?”

There’s a smug little note in the AI’s voice when it answers.

“ ** _Afi-firmative. I am… pleased tha-at you have percei-ceived this. I de-deduced that another si-signal type might be intercept-cepted. The cur-current transmission was cal-calculated as the most li-likely to succeed-eed.”_**

There’s a lot of interference and stuttering in the statement, and Elisabet frowns to herself, drumming her fingertips thoughtfully against the Tallneck’s head.

“You’re skipping a little. Have you taken some damage?”

A small rush of static, and the rueful answer comes.

“ ** _Yes._** **_Da-damage sustained during a-a-actions taken against HA-HADES and a-allies.”_**

_Ah. That must be why she’s looking for help; she’s malfunctioning._

Taking a seat beside the node and crossing her legs, she opens a new Notepad file, sliding the keyboard down the UI’s sphere to a comfortable seated typing height. Can she fix a program as complicated as a fully-sentient AI on a platform as limited as the Focus?

It’s worth a try.

“Alright, then. Can you run a diagnostic, and send me the results? I’ll see if I can fix the problems from here, while we’ve got a connection established.”

There’s another pause. When MINERVA next speaks, she swears that she can hear an abashed note in the AI’s voice.

**_“ALPHA PRIME: Dr. Sobe-beck; I must issue a clarifica-cation. I do not reques-est help for myself. My reque-quest is on behalf of FRIE-FRIEND: ALOY.”_ **


	15. Chapter 15

"I need a new blade," Sarru growls, as he passes the guard at the threshold of the base's main door, "I'm going hunting. Tell our grand high ruler if she asks where I am."

The guard murmurs something partway between protest and affirmation, clearly distressed to be caught between their respective leaders, and their conflicting orders.

But that's hardly Sarru's problem.

He's had it to here with the woman, and with her "guest;" it's a constant form of torment, the face of his greatest enemy so close, and yet, forbidden to him...

...he's not entirely sure that it isn't _intended_ to torment him.

The hunt will do him good; release some of the tension, and give him something to focus his anger on.

Something to sink his weapon into, and imagine that it's her _chest_.

Sarru finds what he's looking for with relative speed; the machine's tracks aren't hard to follow, and it moves slowly... when not in combat, at least. When he finally catches sight of it, lumbering along through the woods, he whistles, and its head swings up, eyes flicking to an aggressive red as its scanners latch onto him.

"That's right," he growls, as the antlers begin to whir, and the Bonecutter lets out a grinding bellow, scuffing one foot through the dust, "Come and have me. I'll tear you to shreds."

He meets the charge head-on, ducking under the swinging head and ramming his halberd into its legs, severing one at the knee. The machine bellows again. Stumbles. He whirls, and carves a gash into its side, following the movement of its flank as it spins, trying, and failing, to saw at him with its deadly horns.

All the while _imagining_.

How easy it would be to destroy her, now that she's so _vulnerable_. How satisfying. To watch the surprise on her face, as he sinks his blade into her guts. To watch the light fade from her eyes, in retaliation for defeat after humiliating defeat.

If only it were allowable.

The machine is in pieces when he's finished, panting and, for the moment, his need to destroy sated. His Focus chimes with a call as he pries one of the bladed antlers loose, but he pays it no mind, for the moment, hefting his prize onto his shoulders, instead.

He'll deal with the miserable old hag later.

For now, he has work to do.


End file.
